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LONDON  LYRiCS. 


LONDON     LYRICS 

BY 

FREDERICK   LOCKER 


NEW  YORK 

WHITE,    STOKES,    &    ALLEN 

1884 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE. 

Messrs.  White,  Stokes,  &*  Allen  take  pleasure  in 
stating  that  they  are  Mr.  Locker's  authorized  pub- 
lishers in  the  United  States.  This  edition  is  the 
A  VTHOR'S  EDITION,  selected  and  revised  by  him. 


Apollo  made,  one  April  day, 
A  nnv  thing  in  the  rhyming  way  ; 
Its  turn  was  neat,  its  wit  was  clear. 
It  wavered  'twixt  a  smile  and  tear  ; 
Then  Mom  us  gave  a-  touch  satiric. 
And  it  became  a  u  London  Lyric." 

[A.  D.] 

Roufant,  Oct.  i,  1S81. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Unrealized  Ideal    .    ,     .     .    v *.  i 

To  my  Grandmother •    •  3 

A  Human  Skull .•».*•  7 

My  Neighbour  Rose 9 

The  Widow's  Mite 13 

St.  James's  Street 14 

Beggars 18 

Bramble-Rise 21 

A  Garden  Lyric 25 

Gertrude's  Necklace 27 

Gertrude's  Glove 29 

The  Old  Oak-tree  at  Hatfield  Broadoak 30 

At  Kurlingham 36 

The  Pilgrims  of  Pall  Mall 39 

On  an  old  Muff 42 

Geraldine 46 

At  her  Window .......50 

Rotten  Row 52 

Loulou  and  her  Cat 55 

The  Skeleton  in  the  Cupboard 58 

An  Invitation  to  Rome,  and  the  Reply : — 

1.  The  Invitation 61 

2.  The  Reply 65 

To  my  Mistress 70 


x  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Circumstance 72 

Yorick's  Funeral 73 

Piccadilly 74 

A  Nice  Correspondent 77 

My  Song 80 

Reply  to  a  Letter  enclosing  a  Lock  of  Hair    ....  82 

A  Rhyme  of  One 85 

Little  Dinky 83 

Any  Poet  to  his  Love 90 

It  might  have  h"_en 92 

The  Cuckoo 94 

To  Lina  Oswald 96 

The  Jester's  Moral 98 

Notes 103 


V 


THE  UNREALIZED  IDEAL. 

My  only  Love  is  always  near, — 

In  country  or  in  town 
I  see  her  twinkling  feet,  I  hear 

The  whisper  of  her  gown. 

She  foots  it  ever  fair  and  young, 
Her  locks  are  tied  in  haste, 

And  one  is  o'er  her  shoulder  flung, 
And  hangs  below  her  waist. 

She  ran  before  me  in  the  meads ; 

And  down  this  world -worn  track 
She  leads  me  on  ;  but  while  she  leads 

She  never  gazes  back. 


LONDON  LYRICS. 

And  yet  her  voice  is  in  my  dreams, 
To  witch  me  more  and  more  ; 

That  wooing  voice  !    Ah  me,  it  seems 
Less  near  me  than  of  yore. 

Lightly  I  sped  when  hope  was  high, 
And  youth  beguiled  the  chase  j 

I  follow— follow  still ;  but  I 
Shall  never  see  her  Face- 


LONDON  LYRICS. 
TO  MY  GRANDMOTHER. 

(SUGGESTED  BY  A  PICTURE  BY  MR.  ROMNEY.) 

Under  tlie  elm  a  rustic  seat 
Was  merriest  Susans  pet  retreat 
To  tnerry-viake. 

This  Relative  of  mine, 
Was  she  seventy-and-nine 

When  she  died  ? 
By  the  canvas  may  be  seen 
How  she  look'd  at  seventeen, 

As  a  Bride. 

Beneath  a  summer  tree 
Her  maiden  reverie 

Has  a  charm ; 
Her  ringlets  are  in  taste  ; 
What  an  arm!  .  .  what  a  waist 

For  an  arm  ! 


LONDON  LYRICS. 

With  her  bridal-wreath,  bouquet, 
Lace  farthingale,  and  gay 

Falbala, — 
If  Romney's  art  be  true, 
What  a  lucky  dog  were  ycu, 

Grandpapa ! 

Her  lips  are  sweet  as  love  ; 

They  are  parting  !    Do  they  move  ? 

Are  they  dumb  ? 
Her  eyes  are  blue,  and  beam 
Beseechingly,  and  seem 

To  say,  "Come!" 

What  funny  fancy  slips 

From  atween  these  cherry  lips  ? 

Whisper  me, 
Fair  Sorceress  in  paint, 
What  canon  says  I  mayn't 

Marry  thee  ? 

That  good-for-nothing  Time 
Has  a  confidence  sublime  I 
When  I  first 


LONDON  LYRICS. 

Saw  this  Lady,  in  my  youth, 
Her  winters  had,  forsooth, 
Done  their  worst. 

Her  locks,  as  white  as  snow, 
Once  shamed  the  swarthy  crow: 

By-and-by 
That  fowl's  avenging  sprite 
Set  his  cruel  foot  for  spite 

Near  her  eye. 

Her  rounded  form  was  lean, 
And  her  silk  was  bombazine : 

Well  I  wot 
With  her  needles  would  she  sit, 
And  for  hours  would  she  knit, — 

Would  she  not  ? 

Ah  perishable  clay  ! 

Her  charms  had  dropt  away 

One  by  one  : 
But  if  she  heaved  a  sigh 
With  a  burthen,  it  was,  "  Thy 

Will  be  done." 


LONDON  LYRICS. 

In  travail,  as  in  tears, 
With  the  fardel  of  her  years 

Overprest, 
In  mercy  she  was  borne 
Where  the  weary  and  the  worn 

Are  at  rest. 

O  if  you  now  are  there, 
And  sweet  as  once  you  were, 

Grandmamma, 
This  nether  world  agrees 
You'll  all  the  better  please 

Grandpapa. 


LONDON  LYRICS. 


A  HUMAN  SKULL. 


A  human  Skull !    I  bought  it  passing  cheap, 
No  doubt  'twas  dearer  to  its  first  employer ! 

I  thought  mortality  did  well  to  keep 

Some  mute  memento  of  the  Old  Destroyer. 

Time  was,  some  may  have  prized  its  blooming  skin ; 

Here  lips  were  woo'd,  perhaps,  in  transport 
tender  j 
Some  may  have  chuck'd  what  was  a  dimpled  chin, 

And  never  had  my  doubt  about  its  gender. 

Did  She  live  yesterday  or  ages  back  ? 

What  colour  were  the  eyes  when  bright  and 
waking  ? 
And  were  your  ringlets  fair,  or  brown,  or  black, 

Poor  little  Head  !  that  long  has  done  with  aching? 

It  may  have  held  (to  shoot  some  random  shots) 
Thy  brains,  Eliza  Fry!  or  Baron  Byron's; 


8  LONDON  LYRICS. 

The  wits  of  Nelly  Gwynne,  or  Doctor  Watts,  — 
Two  quoted  bards.     Two  philanthropic  sirens. 

But  this  I  trust  is  clearly  understood  ; 

If  man  or  woman,  if  adored  or  hated— 
Whoever  own'd  this  Skull  was  not  so  good, 

Nor  quite  so  bad  as  many  may  have  stated. 
*  *  *  * 

Who  love  can  need  no  special  type  of  Death ; 

He  bares  his  awful  face  too  soon,  too  often ; 
Immortelles  bloom  in  Beauty's  bridal  wreath, 

And  does  not  yon  green  elm  contain  a  coffin? 

O  True-love  mine,  what  lines  of  care  are  these  ? 

The  heart  still  lingers  with  its  golden  hours, 
But  fading  tints  are  on  the  chestnut-trees, 

And  where  is  all  that  lavish  wealth  of 
flowers  ? 

The  end  is  near.     Life  lacks  what  once  it  gave, 
Yet  Death  has  promises  that  call  for  praises  ; 

A  very  worthless,  rogue  may  dig  the  grave, 

But  Hands  unseen  will  dress  the  turf  with  daisies. 
1860. 


LONDON  LYRICS. 


MY  NEIGHBOUR  ROSE. 

Though  walls  but  thin  our  hearths  divide, 
We're  strangers,  dwelling  side  by  side  j-t- 
How  gaily  all  your  days  must  glide 

Unvex'd  by  labour ! 
I've  seen  you  weep,  and  could  have  wept ; 
I've  heard  you  sing,  (and  might  have  slept  !) 
Sometimes  I  hear  your  chimney  swept, 

My  Charming  Neighbour ! 

Your  pets  are  mine.     Pray  what  may  ail 
The  pup,  once  eloquent  of  tail  ? 
I  wonder  why  your  nightingale 

Is  mute  at  sunset. 
Your  puss,  demure  and  pensive,  seems 
Too  fat  to  mouse.     Much  she  esteems 
Yon  sunny  wall,  and,  dozing,  dreams 

Of  mice  she  once  ate. 


io  LONDON  LYRICS. 

Our  tastes  agree.     I  dote  upon 
Frail  jars,  turquoise  and  celadon, 
The  Wedding  March  of  Mendelssohn, 

And  Penseroso. 
When  sorely  tempted  to  purloin 
Your  Picta  of  Marc  Antoine, 
Fair  virtue  doth  fair  play  enjoin, 

Fair  Virtuoso  1 

At  times  an  Ariel,  cruel-kind, 

Will  kiss  my  lips,  and  stir  your  blind, 

And  whisper  low,  "  She  hides  behind  ; 

Thou  art  not  lonely." 
The  tricksy  sprite  would  erst  assist 
At  hush'd  Verona's  moonlight  tryst ; — 
Sweet  Capulet,  thou  wert  not  kiss'd 

By  light  winds  only. 

I  miss  the  simple  days  of  yore, 
When  two  long  braids  of  hair  you  wore, 
And  Chat  Bo/texvas  wonder'd  o'er, 
In  corner  cosy. 


CONDON  LYRICS.  n 

But  gAz,L  not  back  for  tables  like  those  : 
It's  all  in  order,  I  suppose  ; 
The  Bud  is  now  a  blooming  Rose, — 
A  rosy-posy ! 

Indeed,  farewell  to  bygone  years  ; 
How  wonderful  the  change  appears  ; 
For  curates  now,  and  cavaliers, 

In  tui  n  perplex  you  : 
The  last  are  birds  of  feather  gay, 
Who  swear  the  first  are  birds  of  prey  ;— 
I'd  scare  them  all  had  I  my  way, 

But  that  might  vex  you. 

Sometimes  I've  envied,  it  is  true, 
That  Hero,  joyous  twenty-two, 
Who  sent  bouquets  and  billets  doux, 

And  wore  a  sabre. 
The  Rogue  !  how  close  his  arm  he  wound 
About  Her  waist,  who  never  frown'd. 
He  loves  you,  Child.     Now,  is  he  bound 

To  love  my  Neighbour  ? 


12  LONDON  LYRICS. 

The  bells  are  ringing.     As  is  meet, 
White  favours  fascinate  the  street, 
Sweet  faces  greet  me,  rueful-sweet 

'Twixt  tears  and  laughter  : 
They  crowd  the  door  to  see  her  go, 
The  bliss  of  one  brings  many  woe  ; — 
Ay,  kiss  the  Bride,  and  I  will  throw 

The  Old  Shoe  after. 

What  change  in  one  short  afternoon, 
My  own  dear  Neighbour  gone, — so  sooa  ! 
Is  yon  pale  orb  her  honey-moon 

Slow  rising  hither  ? 
O  lady,  wan  and  marvellous  ! 
How  often  have  we  communed  thus  ! 
Sweet  memory  shall  dwell  with  us, 
And  joy  go  with  her. 
i£6i. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  13 


THE  WIDOW'S  MITE. 

A  Widow — she  had  only  one  1 
A  puny  and  decrepit  Son  ; 

But,  day  and  night, 
Though  fretful  oft,  and  weak  and  small, 
A  loving  Child,  he  was  her  all — 

The  Widow's  Mite. 

The  Widow's  Mite  !  ay,  so  sustain' d, 
She,battled  onward,  nor  complain'd 

That  friends  were  fewer : 
And  while  she  toil'd  for  daily  fare, 
A  little  Crutch  upon  the  stair 

Was  music  to  her. 

I  saw  her  then, — and  now  I  see 

That,  though  resign'd  and  cheerful,  she 

Has  sorrow'd  much : 
She  has,  He  gave  it  tenderly, 
Much  faith ;  and,  carefully  laid  by, 

A  little  Crutch. 
1856. 


14  L  OND  ON  L  YRICS, 

ST.   JAMES'S   STREET. 

{See  note.) 

St.  James's  Street,  of  classic  fame, 

For  Fashion  still  is  seen  there  : 
St.  James's  Street  ?    I  know  the  name, 

I  almost  think  I've  been  there  ! 
Why,  that's  where  Sacharissa  sigh'd 

When  Waller  read  his  ditty  ; 
Where  Byron  lived,  and  Gibbon  died, 

And  Alvanley  was  witty. 

A  famous  Street  !    To  yonder  Park 

Young  Churchill  stole  in  class-time  ; 
Come,  gaze  on  fifty  men  of  mark, 

And  then  recall  the  past  time. 
The  flats  at  White's,  the  play  at  Crocks, 

The  bumpers  to  Miss  Gunning  ; 
The  bonhomie  of  Charlie  Fox, 

And  Selwyn's  ghastly  funning. 


LONDON  LYRICS. 

The  dear  old  Street  of  clubs  and  cribs, 

As  north  and  south  it  stretches, 
Still  seems  to  smack  of  Rolliad  squibs, 

And  Gillray's  fiercer  sketches  ; 
The  quaint  old  dress,  the  grand  old  style, 

The  mots,  the  racy  stories  ; 
The  wine,  the  dice,  the  wit,  the  bile — 

The  hate  of  Whigs  and  Tories. 

At  dusk,  when  I  am  strolling  there, 

Dim  forms  will  rise  around  me  ; 
Lepel  flits  past  me  in  her  chair, 

And  Congreve's  airs  astound  me  ! 
And  once  Nell  Gwynne,  a  frail  young  Sprite, 

Look'd  kindly  when  I  met  her  ; 
I  shook  my  head,  perhaps,  — but  quite 

Forgot  to  quite  forget  her. 

The  Street  is  still  a  lively  tomb 

For  rich,  and  gay,  and  clever  ; 
The  crops  of  dandies  bud  and  bloom, 

And  die  as  fast  as  ever. 
c 


1 6  L  ONDON  L  YRICS. 

Now  gilded  youth  loves  cutty  pipes, 
And  slang  that's  rather  scaring ; 

It  can't  approach  its  prototypes 
In  taste,  or  tone,  or  bearinsr. 


In  BrummelPs  day  of  buckle  shoes, 

Lawn  cravats,  and  roll  collars, 
They'd  fight,  and  woo,  and  bet— and  lose 

Like  gentlemen  and  scholars  : 
I'm  glad  young  men  should  go  the  pace, 

I  half  forgive  Old  Rapid  ; 
These  louts  disgrace  their  name  and  race^« 

So  vicious  and  so  vapid  ! 

Worse  times  may  come.     Bon  ton,  indeed, 

Will  then  be  quite  forgotten, 
And  all  we  much  revere  will  speed 

From  ripe  to  worse  than  rotten  : 
Let  grass  then  sprout  between  yon  stones, 

And  owls  then  roost  at  Boodle's, 
For  Echo  will  hurl  back  the  tones 

Of  screaming  Yankee  Doodles. 


LONDON  LYRICS. 

I  love  the  haunts  of  Old  Cockaigne, 

Where  wit  and  wealth  were  squander'd  ; 
The  halls  that  tell  of  hoop  and  train, 

Where  grace  and  rank  have  wander'd  ; 
Those  halls  where  ladies  fair  and  leal 

First  ventured  to  adore  me  !— 
Something  of  that  old  love  I  feel 

For  this  old  Street  before  me. 
1867. 


18  LONDON  LYRICS. 


BEGGARS. 

I  am  pacing  the  Mall  in  a  rapt  reverie, 
I  am  thinking  if  Sophy  is  thinking  of  me, 
When  I'm  roused  by  a  ragged  and  shivering  wretch, 
Who  seems  to  be  well  on  his  way  to  Jack  Ketch. 

He  has  got  a  bad  face,  and  a  shocking  bad  hat ; 
A  comb  in  his  fist,  and  he  sees  I'm  a  flat, 
For  he  says,  "  Buy  a  comb,  it's  a  fine  un  to  wear  ; 
On'y  try  it,  my  Lord,  through  your  whiskers  and 


He  eyes  my  gold  chain,  as  if  greedy  to  crib  it ; 
He  looks  just  as  if  he'd  been  blown  from  a  gibbet. 
I  pause  .  .  .  !   I  pass  on,  and  beside  the  club  fire 
I  settle  that  Sophy  is  all  I  desire. 

As  I  stroll  from  the  club,  and  am  deep  in  a  strophe 
That  rolls  upon  all  that's  delightful  in  Sophy, 
I'm  humbly  address'd  by  an  " object"  unnerving, 
So  tatter'd  a  wretch  must  be  "  highly  deserving." 


LONDON  LYRICS.  19 

She  begs, — I  am  touch'd,  but  I've  great  circum- 
spection j 
I  stifle  remorse  with  the  soothing  reflection 
That  cases  of  vice  are  by  no  means  a  rarity — 
The  worst  vice  of  all's  indiscriminate  charity. 

Am  I  right?    How  I  wish  that  my  clerical  guide 
Would  settle  this  question — and  others  beside. 
For  always  one's  heart  to  be  hardening  thus, 
If  wholesome  for  Beggars,  is  hurtful  for  us. 

A  few  minutes  later  I'm  happy  and  free 
To  sip  "  Its  own  Sophy  kins'  "  five -o'clock  tea  : 
Her  table  is  loaded,  for  when  a  girl  marries, 
What  bushels  of  rubbish  they  send  her  from  Barry's! 

"There's  a  present  for  you,  Sir  !"    Yes,  thanks  to 

her  thrift, 
My  Pet  has  been  able  to  buy  me  a  gift ; 
And  she  slips  in  my  hand,  the  delightfully  sly 

Thing, 
A  paper-weight  form'd  of  a  bronze  lizard  writhing. 


20  LONDON  LYRICS. 

1 '  What   a   charming  cadeau !    and   so  truthfully 

moulded ; 
But  perhaps  you  don't  know,  or   deserve  to  be 

scolded, 
That  in  casting  this  metal  a  live,  harmless  lizard 
Was  cruelly  tortured  in  ghost  and  in  gizzard?" 

"Po-oh!"—  says  my  Lady,  (she  always  says  "Pooh" 
When  she's  wilful,  and  does  what  sheoughtn't  todo!) 
"  Hopgarten  protests  they've  no  feeling,  and  so 
was  only  their  muscular  movement,  you  know !" 

Thinks  I  (when  I've  said  au  revoir,  and  depart — 
A  Comb  in  my  pocket,  a  Weight — at  my  heart), 
And  when  wretched  Mendicants  writhe,  there's  a 

notion 
That  begging  is  only  their  "muscular  motion." 


LONDON  LYRICS.  2\ 


BRAMBLE-RISE. 

What  changes  greet  my  wistful  eyes 
In  quiet  little  Bramble-Rise, 

The  pride  of  all  the  shire  ; 
How  alter'd  is  each  pleasant  nook  ; — 
And  used  the  dumpy  church  to  look 

So  dumpy  in  the  spire  ? 

This  Village  is  no  longer  mine  ; 

And  though  the  inn  has  changed  its  sign, 

The  beer  may  not  be  stronger ; 
The  haunt  of  butterflies  and  bees 
Is  now  a  street,  the  cottages 

Are  cottages  no  longer. 

The  mud  is  brick,  the  thatch  is  slate, 
The  pound  has  tumbled  out  of  date, 
And  all  the  trees  are  stunted  : 


22  L  OND  ON  L  YRICS. 

Surely  these  thistles  once  grew  figs, 
These  geese  were  swans,  and  once  the  pigs 
More  musically  grunted. 


Where  boys  and  girls  pursued  their  sports 
A  locomotive  puffs  and  snorts, 

And  gets  my  malediction  ; 
The  turf  is  dust — the  elves  are  fled — 
The  ponds  have  shrunk — and  tastes  have  spread 

To  photograph  and  fiction. 

Ah,  there's  a  face  I  know  again, 
There's  Patty  trotting  down  the  lane 

To  fill  her  pail  with  water ; 
Yes,  Patty  !  but  I  fear  she's  not 
The  tricksy  Pat  that  used  to  trot, 

But  Patty,— Patty's  daughter  ! 

And  has  she,  too,  outlived  the  spells 
Of  breezy  hills  and  silent  dells 

Where  childhood  loved  to  ramble? 


LONDON  LYRICS.  23 

Then  life  was  thornless  to  our  ken, 
And,  Bramble-Rise,  thy  hills  were  then 
A  rise  without  a  bramble. 

Whence  comes  the  change?  'Twere  simply  toL.l  ; 
For  some  grow  wise,  and  some  grow  cold, 

And  all  feel  time  and  trouble  : 
If  Life  an  empty  bubble  be, 
How  sad  for  those  who  cannot  see 

The  rainbow  in  the  bubble  ! 

And  senseless  too,  for  Madam  Fate 
Is  not  the  fickle  reprobate 

That  moody  folk  have  thought  her  ; 
My  heart  leaps  up,  and  I  rejoice 
As  falls  upon  my  ear  thy  voice, 

My  little  friskful  Daughter. 

Come  hither,  Fairy,  perch  on  these 
Thy  most  unworthy  father's  knees, 

And  tell  him  all  about  it. 
Are  dolls  a  sham?    Can  men  be  base  1 
When  gazing  on  thy  blessed  face 

I'm  quite  prepared  to  doubt  it. 


24  LONDON  LYRICS. 

Though  life  is  call'd  a  weary  jaunt, 
Though  earthly  joys,  the  wisest  grant, 

Have  no  enduring  basis  ; 
It's  pleasant,  if  I  must  be  here, 
To  find  with  Puss,  my  Daughter  dear, 

A  little  cool  oasis  ! 

Oh,  may'st  thou  some  day  own,  sweet  Elf, 
A  Pet  just  like  thy  winsome  self, 

Her  sanguine  thoughts  to  borrow ; 
Content  to  use  her  brighter  eyes, 
Accept  her  childish  ecstasies, — 

If  need  be,  share  her  sorrow. 

The  wisdom  of  thy  prattle  cheers 

My  heart ;  and  when,  outworn  in  years, — 

When  homeward  I  am  starting, 
My  Darling,  lead  me  gently  down 
To  life's  dim  strand  :  the  skies  may  frown, 

— But  weep  not  for  our  parting. 
April,  1857. 


L  OND  ON  L  YRICS.  25 


A  GARDEN  LYRIC. 

We  have  loiter'd  and  laugh'd  in  the  flowery  croft, 

We  have  met  under  wintry  skies ; 
Her  voice  is  the  dearest  voice,  and  soft 

Is  the  light  in  her  gentle  eyes  ; 
It  is  sweet  in  the  silent  woods,  among 

Gay  crowds,  or  in  any  place 
To  hear  her  voice,  to  gaze  on  her  young 
Confiding  face. 

For  ever  may  roses  divinely  blow, 

And  wine-dark  pansies  charm 
By  the  prim  box  path  where  I  felt  the  glow 

Of  her  dimpled,  trusting  arm, 
And  the  sweep  of  her  silk  as  she  turn'd  and  smiled 

A  smile  as  pure  as  her  pearls ; 
The  breeze  was  in  love  with  the  darling  Child, 
As  it  moved  her  curls. 

She  show'd  me  her  ferns  and  woodbine-sprays, 
Foxglove  and  jasmine  stars, 


26  L  ON  DON  L  \  TRICS. 

A  mist  of  blue  in  the  beds,  a  blaze 

Of  red  in  the  celadon  jars  : 
And  velvety  bees  in  convolvulus  bells, 

And  roses  of  bountiful  June — 
Oh,  who  would  think  that  their  summer  spells 
Could  die  so  soon  ! 

For  a  glad  song  came  from  the  milking  shed, 

On  a  wind  of  the  summer  south, 
And  the  green  was  golden  above  her  head, 

And  a  sunbeam  kiss'd  her  mouth  ; 
Sweet  were  the  lips  where  that  sunbeam  dwelt 

And  the  wings  of  Time  were  fleet 
As  I  gazed  ;  and  neither  spoke,  for  we  felt 
Life  was  so  sweet ! 

And  the  odorous  limes  were  dim  above 

As  we  leant  on  a  drooping  bough  ; 
And  the  darkling  air  was  a  breath  of  love, 

And  a  witching  thrush  sang  "  Now  !  " 
For  the  sun  dropt  low,  and  the  twilight  grew 

As  we  listen'd,  and  sigh'd,  and  leant ; 
That  day  was  the  sweetest  day — and  we  knew 
What  the  sweetness  meant. 

1868. 


LONDON  LYRICS. 


GERTRUDE'S  NECKLACE. 

As  Gerty  skipt  from  babe  to  girl, 

Her  Necklace  lengthen'd,  pearl  by  pearl 

Year  after  year  it  grew,  and  grew, 

For  every  Birthday  gave  her  two. 

Her  neck  is  lovely,  soft  and  fair, 

And  now  her  Necklace  glimmers  there. 

So  cradled,  let  it  fall  and  rise, 
And  all  her  graces  symbolize. 
Perchance  this  pearl,  without  a  speck, 
Once  was  as  warm  on  Sappho's  neck ; 
Where  are  the  happy,  twilight  pearls 
That  braided  Beatrice's  curls  ? 

Is  Gerty  loved?    Is  Gerty  loth? 
Or,  if  she's  either,  is  she  both  ? 
She's  fancy  free,  but  sweeter  far 
Than  many  plighted  Maidens  are  : 


27 


28  LONDON  LYRICS. 

Will  Gerty  smile  us  all  away, 

And  still  be  Gerty?    Who  can  say ? 

But  let  her  wear  her  Precious  Toy, 

And  I'll  rejoice  to  see  her  joy : 

Her  bauble's  only  one  degree 

Less  frail,  less  fugitive  than  we ; 

For  time,  ere  long,  will  snap  the  skein, 

And  scatter  all  her  Pearls  again. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  29 


GERTRUDE'S  GLOVE. 

Elle  avalt  au  bout  des  ses  matiches 
Une  pnire  de  mams  si  biauc/ies  ! 

Slips  of  a  kid-skin  deftly  sewn, 
A  scent  as  through  her  garden  blown, 
The  tender  hue  that  clothes  her  dove, 
All  these,  and  this  is  Gerty's  Glove. 

A  Glove  but  lately  dofft,  for  look — 

It  keeps  the  happy  shape  it  took 

Warm  from  her  touch  !    What  gave  the  glow  ? 

And  where's  the  Mould  that  shaped  it  so  ? 

It  clasp'd  the  hand,  so  pure,  so  sleek, 
Where  Gerty  rests  a  pensive  cheek  ; 
The  hand  that  when  the  light  wind  stirs, 
Reproves  those  laughing  locks  of  hers. 

You  Fingers  four,  you  little  Thumb ! 
Were  I  but  you,  in  days  to  come 
I'd  clasp,  and  kiss, — I'd  keep  her.     Go! 
And  tell  her  that  I  told  you  so. 
Kissingen,  September,  1871. 


3o  LONDON  LYRICS. 


rilE  OLD    OAK-TREE  AT    HATFIELD 
BROADOAK. 

A  mighty  growth  !    The  county  side 
Lamented  when  the  Giant  died, 

For  England  loves  her  trees  : 
What  misty  legends  round  him  cling  ; 
I  low  lavishly  he  once  could  fling 

Plis  acorns  to  the  breeze  ! 

Who  struck  a  thousand  roots  in  fame, 
Who  gave  the  district  half  its  name, 

Will  not  be  soon  forgotten  : 
Last  spring  he  show'd  but  one  green  bough, 
The  red  leaves  hang  there  yet, — and  now 

His  very  props  are  rotten ! 

Elate,  the  thunderbolt  he  braved, 
For  centuries  his  branches  waved 
A  welcome  to  the  blast ; 


LONDON  LYRICS.  31 

From  reign  to  reign  he  bore  a  spell ; 
No  forester  had  dared  to  fell 
What  time  has  fell'd  at  last. 

The  Monarch  wore  a  leafy  crown, — 

And  wolves,  ere  wolves  were  hunted  down, 

Found  shelter  in  his  gloom  ; 
Unnumber'd  squirrels  frolick'd  free, 
Glad  music  fill'd  the  gallant  Tree 

From  stem  to  topmost  bloom. 

It's  hard  to  say,  'twere  vain  to  s  :ek, 
When  first  he  ventured  forth,  a  meek 

Petitioner  for  dew  ; 
No  Saxon  spade  disturb'd  his  root, 
The  rabbit  spared  the  tender  shoot, 

And  valiantly  he  grew, 

And  show'd  some  inches  from  the  ground 
When  St.  Augustine  came  and  found 

Us  very  proper  Vandals  : 
Then  nymphs  had  bluer  eyes  than  hose ; 
England  then  measured  men  by  blows, 

And  measured  time  by  candles. 

D 


32  LONDON  LYRICS. 

The  pilgrim  biess'd  his  grateful  shade 
Ere  Richard  led  the  first  crusade ; 

And  maidens  loved  to  dance 
Where,  boy  and  man,  in  summer-time, 
Chaucer  once  ponder'd  o'er  his  rhyme  ; 

And  Robin  Hood,  perchance, 

Stole  hither  to  Maid  Marian ; 
(And  if  they  did  not  come,  one  can 

At  any  rate  suppose  it) ; 
They  met  beneath  the  mistletoe, — 
We've  done  the  same,  and  ought  to  know 

The  reason  why  they  chose  it ! 

And  this  was  call'd  the  Traitor's  Branch, 
Stem  Warwick  hung  six  yeomen  stanch 

Along  its  mighty  fork  ; 
Uncivil  wars  for  them!    The  fair 
Red  rose  and  white  still  bloom,  but  where 

Are  Lancaster  and  York  ? 

Right  mournfully  his  leaves  he  shed 
To  shroud  the  graves  of  England's  dead, 
By  English  falchion  slain  ; 


LONDON  LYRICS.  33 

And  cheerfully,  for  England's  sake, 

He  sent  his  Kin  to  sea  with  Drake, 

When  Tudor  humbled  Spain. 

While  Blake  was  fighting  with  the  Dutch 
They  gave  his  poor  old  arms  a  crutch  ; 

And  thrice-four  maids  and  men  ate 
A  meal  within  his  rugged  bark, 
When  Coventry  bewitch'd  the  Park, 

And  Chatham  ruled  the  Senate. 

His  few  remaining  boughs  were  green, 
And  dappled  sunbeams  danced  between 

Upon  the  dappled  deer, 
When,  clad  in  black,  two  mourners  met 
To  read  the  Waterloo  Gazette, — 

They  mourn'd  their  Darling  here. 

They  join'd  their  Boy.     The  Tree  at  last 
Lies  prone,  discoursing  of  the  past, 

Some  fancy-dreams  awaking ; 
At  rest,  though  headlong  changes  come 
Though  nations  arm  to  roll  of  drum, 

And  dynasties  are  quaking. 


34  L ONDON  L  YRICS. 

Romantic  Spot  !    By  honest  pride 
Of  old  tradition  sanctified  ; 

My  pensive  vigil  keeping, 
Thy  beauty  moves  me  like  a  spell, 
And  thoughts,  and  tender  thoughts,  upwell, 

That  fill  my  heart  to  weeping. 
*  »  »  *  • 

The  Squire  affirms,  with  gravest  look, 
His  Oak  goes  back  to  Domesday  Book  : 

And  some  say  even  higher  ! 
We  rode  last  week  to  see  the  Ruin, 
We  love  the  fair  domain  it  grew  in, 

And  well  we  love  the  Squire. 

A  nature  loyally  controll'd, 

And  fashion'd  in  that  righteous  mould 

Of  English  gentleman  ; 
My  child  some  day  will  read  these  rhymes, 
She  loved  her  "  Godpapa  "  betimes, — 

The  little  Christian  ! 

I  love  the  Past,  its  ripe  pleasance, 
And  lusty  thought,  and  dim  romance, — 
Its  heart-compelling  ditties ; 


L  OND ON  L  YRICS.  35 

But  more,  these  ties,  in  mercy  sent, 

With  faith  and  true  affection  blent, 

And,  wanting  them,  I  were  content 

To  murmur,  "  Nine  dimittzs." 

Hallingbury  :  Aprils  i8jg. 


36  LONDON  LYRICS, 


AT  HURLINGHAM. 

/  recollect  a  nurse  calFd  Ann, 

Who  carried  t7ie  about  the  grass ; 
And  one  fine  day  a  fine  young  man 

Came  upt  and  kiss'd  the  pretty  Lass  : 
She  did  not  make  the  least  objection  ! 
Thinks  I,  "Aha! 
When  I  can  talk  I'll  tell  Mamma." 
— And  that's  my  earliest  recollection. 

A  Terrjble  Infant 

This  was  dear  Willy's  brief  despatch, 

A  curt  and  yet  a  cordial  summons  ; — 
"Do  come  !  I'm  in  to-morrow's  match, 

And  see  us  whip  the  Faithful  Commons." 
We  trundled  out  behind  the  bays, 

Through  miles  and  miles  of  brick  and  garden ; 
Mamma  was  drest  in  mauve  and  maize, — 

She  let  me  wear  my  Dolly  Varden. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  37 

A  charming  scene,  and  lively  too ; 

The  paddock's  full,  the  band  is  playing 
Botdottis  song  in  Barbe  blew  ; 

And  what  are  all  these  people  saying  ? 
They  flirt  !  they  bet !     There's  Linda  Reeves 

Too  lovely  !     I'd  give  worlds  to  borrow 
Her  yellow  rose  with  russet  leaves  ! — 

I'll  wear  a  yellow  rose  to-morrow  ! 

And  there  are  May  and  Algy  Meade  ; 

How  proud  she  looks  on  her  promotion  1 
The  ring  must  be  amused  indeed, 

And  edified  by  such  devotion  ! 
I  wonder  if  she  ever  guessed  ! 

I  wonder  if  he'll  call  on  Friday  I 
I  often  wonder  which  is  best  ! — 

I  only  hope  my  hair  is  tidy  ! 

Some  girls  repine,  and  some  rejoice, 
And  some  get  bored,  but  I'm  contented 

To  make  my  destiny  my  choice, 
I'll  never  dream  that  I've  repented. 


38  LONDON  LYRICS. 

There's  something  sad  in  loved  and  cross V/, 
For  all  the  fond,  fond  hope  that  rings  it : 

There's  something  sweet  in  "  Loved  and  Lost"; 
And  Oh,  how  sweetly  Alfred  sings  it ! 


I'll  own  I'm  bored  with  handicaps  ! 

Bhicrocksl  (they  always  are  "  bhierock" -vng  !) 
With  May,  a  little  bit,  perhaps, — 

And  yon  Faust's  teufelshund  is  shocking  ! 
Bang  . .  bang  .  .  !  That's  Willy  !  There's  his  bird, 

Blithely  it  cleaves  the  skies  above  me  ! 
He's  miss'd  all  ten  !     He's  too  absurd  ! — 

I  hope  he'll  always,  always  love  me  ! 

We've  lost  !     To  tea,  then  back  to  town  ; 

The  crowd  is  laughing,  eating,  drinking  : 
The  Moon's  eternal  eyes  look  down, — 

Of  what  can  yon  pale  Moon  be  thinking  ? 
Oh,  but  for  some  good  fairy's  wand  ! 

This  Pigeoncide  is  worse  than  silly, 
But  still  I'm  very,  very  fond 

Of  Hurlingham,  and  tea,—  and  Willy. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  39 


THE  PILGRIMS   OF  PALL  MALL. 

My  little  Friend,  so  small,  so  neat, 
Whom  years  ago  I  used  to  meet 

In  Pall  Mall  daily, 
How  cheerily  you  tript  away 
To  work,  it  might  have  been  to  play, 

You  tript  so  gaily. 

And  Time  trips  too  !    This  moral  means 
You  then  were  midway  in  the  teens 

That  I  was  crowning  ; 
We  never  spoke,  but  when  I  smiled 
At  morn  or  eve,  I  know,  dear  Child, 

You  were  not  frowning. 

Each  morning  that  we  met,  I  think 
One  sentiment  us  two  did  link, 

Not  joy,  nor  sorrow  ; 
And  then  at  eve,  experience-taught, 
Our  hearts  were  lighter  for  the  thought,— 

We  meet  to-morrow ! 


40  LONDON  LYRICS. 

And  you  were  poor,  so  poor  !  and  why  ? 
How  kind  to  come,  it  was  for  my 

Especial  grace  meant ! 
Had  you  a  chamber  near  the  stars, — 
A  bird, — some  treasured  plants  in  jars, 

About  your  casement  ? 

I  often  wander  up  and  down, 

When  morning  bathes  the  silent  town 

In  dewy  glory ; 
1-erhaps,  unwitting,  I  have  heard 
Your  thrilling-toned  canaiy-bird 

From  that  third  story. 

I've  seen  some  change  since  last  we  met — 
<\  patient  little  Seamstress  yet, 

On  small  wage  striving, 
Huve  you  a  Lilliputian  Spouse  ? 
And  do  you  dwell  in  some  doll's  house  ? — 

Is  Baby  thriving  ? 

My  heart  grows  chill !     Can  Soul  like  thine, 
Weary  of  this  dear  World  of  mine, 
Have  loosed  its  fetter, 


LONDON  LYRICS.  41 

To  find  a  world,  whose  promised  bliss 
Is  better  than  the  best  of  this  ? — 
And  is  it  better  ? 

Sometimes  to  Pall  Mall  I  repair, 
And  see  the  damsels  passing  there ; 

But  if  I  try  to  .  .  . 
To  get  one  glance,  they  look  discreet, 
As  though  they'd  some  one  else  to  meet ; — 

As  have  not  /too? 

Yet  still  I  often  think  upon 

Our  many  meetings,  come  and  gone, 

July — December ! 
Now  let  us  make  a  tryst,  and  when, 
Dear  little  Soul,  we  meet  again, 
In  some  more  kindly  sphere,  why  then 

Thy  Friend  remember, 
1856. 


42  L  OND  ON  L  YKICS. 


ON  AN  OLD  MUFF. 

He  cannot  be  complete  in  aught 
Who  is  not  humorously  prone,— 

A  man  without  a  merry  thought 
Can  hardly  have  a  funny  botte. 

Time  has  a  magic  wand  ! 
What  is  this  meets  my  hand, 
Moth-eaten,  mouldy,  and 

Cover'd  with  fluff? 
Faded,  and  stiff,  and  scant ; 
Can  it  be  ?  no,  it  can't — 
Yes,  I  declare,  it's  Aunt 

Prudence's  Muff ! 

Years  ago,  twenty-three, 
Old  Uncle  Doubledee 
Gave  it  to  Aunty  P. 

Laughing  and  teasing — 
"  Pru.,  of  the  breezy  curls, 
Question  those  solemn  churls, - 
What  holds  a  pretty  girVs 

Hand  without  squeezing?'''' 


LONDON  LYRICS. 

Uncle  was  then  a  lad 
Gay,  but,  I  grieve  to  add, 
Sinful,  if  smoking  bad 

Baccy  's  a  vice : 
Glossy  was  then  this  mink 
Muff,  lined  with  pretty  pink 
Satin,  which  maidens  think 

"  Awfully  nice  !" 

I  seem  to  see  again 

Aunt  in  her  hood  and  train, 

Glide,  with  a  sweet  disdain, 

Gravely  to  Meeting : 
Psalm-book  and  kerchief  new, 
Peep'd  from  the  Muff  of  Pru.  ; 
Young  men,  and  pious  too, 

Giving  her  greeting. 

Sweetly  her  Sabbath  sped 
Then  ;  from  this  Muff,  it's  said, 
Tracts  she  distributed  : — 

Converts  (till  Monday !) 
Lured  by  the  grace  they  lack'd, 
Follow'd  her.     One,  in  fact, 


44  LONDON  LYRICS. 

Ask'd  for — and  got  his  tract 
Twice  of  a  Sunday ! 

Love  has  a  potent  spell ; 
Soon  this  bold  NeW-do-well, 
Aunt's  too  susceptible 

Heart  undermining, 
Slipt,  so  the  scandal  runs, 
Notes  in  the  pretty  nun's 
Muff,  triple-corner'd  ones, 

Pink  as  its  lining. 

Worse  follow' d — soon  the  Jade 

Fled  (to  oblige  her  blade  !) 

Whilst  her  friends  thought  that  they'd 

Lock'd  her  up  tightly : 
After  such  shocking  games 
Aunt  is  of  wedded  dames 
Gayest,  and  now  her  name's 

Mrs.  Golightly. 

In  female  conduct  flaw 
Sadder  I  never  saw, 
Faith  still  I've  in  the  law 
Of  compensation. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  45 

Once  Uncle  went  astray, 
Smoked,  joked,  and  swore  away, 
Sworn  by  he's  now,  by  a 
Large  congregation. 

Changed  is  the  Child  of  Sin, 
Now  he's  (he  once  was  thin) 
Grave,  with  a  double  chin, — 

Blest  be  his  fat  form  ! 
Changed  is  the  garb  he  wore, 
Preacher  was  never  more 
Prized  than  is  Uncle  for 

Pulpit  or  platform. 

If  all's  as  best  befits 
Mortals  of  slender  wits, 
Then  beg  this  Muff  and  its 

Fair  Owner  pardon : 
Alts  for  the  best,  indeed 
Such  is  My  simple  creed  ; 
Still  I  must  go  and  weed 
Hard  in  my  garden. 
1863. 


45  LONDON  LYRICS. 


GERALDINE. 

She  will  not  need  the  shepherd's  crook. 

Her  griefs  are  only  passing  shadoiv, 
She'll  bask  beside  tlie  purest  brook, 

And  nibble  in  tJie  greenest  meadow. 

A  simple  Child  has  claims 
On  your  sentiment,  her  name's 

Geraldine. 
Be  tender,  but  beware, 
She's  frolicsome  as  fair, 

And  fifteen. 

She  has  gifts  to  grace  allied, 
And  each  she  has  applied, 

And  improved  : 
She  has  bliss  that  lives  and  leans 
On  loving,  and  that  means 

She  is  loved. 

Her  beauty  is  refined 

By  harmony  of  mind, 

And  the  art, 


LONDON  LYRICS.  47 

And  the  blessed  nature,  too, 
Of  a  tender,  and  a  true 
Little  heart. 

And  yet  I  mustn't  vault 
Over  any  foolish  fault 

That  she  owns ; 
Or  others  might  rebel, 
And  enviously  swell 

In  their  zones. 

For  she's  tricksy  as  the  fays, 
Or  her  pussy  when  it  plays 

With  a  string : 
She's  a  goose  about  her  cat, 
Her  ribbons,  and  all  that 

Sort  of  thing. 

These  foibles  are  a  blot, 
Still  she  never  can  do  what 

Isn't  nice; 
Such  as  quarrel,  and  give  slaps — 
As  I've  known  her  get  perhaps 

Once  or  twice. 
E 


48  LONDON  LYRICS. 

The  spells  that  draw  her  soul 
Are  subtle — sad  or  droll : 

She  can  show 
That  virtuoso  whim 
Which  consecrates  our  dim 

Long-ago. 

A  love  that  is  not  sham 

For  Stothard,  Blake,  and  Lamb ; 

And  I've  known 
Cordelia's  sad  eyes 
Cause  angel-tears  to  rise 

In  her  own. 

Her  gentle  spirit  yearns 

When  she  reads  of  Robin  Burns  j — 

Luckless  Bard  ! 
Had  she  blossom'd  in  thy  time, 
Oh,  how  rare  had  been  the  rhyme 

— And  reward ! 

Thrice  happy  then  is  he 
Who,  planting  such  a  Tree, 
Sees  it  bloom 


LONDON  LYRICS.  49 

To  shelter  him  ;  indeed 
We  have  joyance  as  we  speed 
To  our  doom ! 

I'm  happy,  having  grown 
Such  a  Sapling  of  my  own ; 

And  I  crave 
No  garland  for  my  brows, 
But  rest  beneath  its  boughs 
To  the  Grave. 
1864. 


5o  LONDON  LYRICS. 


AT  HER  WINDOW. 

Ah,  Minstrel,  how  strange  is 
The  carol y on  sing! 

Let  Psyche,  -who  ranges 

The  garde ti  of  spring, 

Remember  the  Changes 

December  will  bring. 

Beating  Heart !  we  come  agaic 
Where  my  Love  reposes  : 

This  is  Mabel's  window-pane  ; 
These  are  Mabel's  roses. 

Is  she  nested  ?    Does  she  kneel 

In  the  twilight  stilly, 
Lily  clad  from  throat  to  heel, 

She,  my  Virgin  Lily  ? 

Soon  the  wan,  the  wistful  stars, 
Fading,  will  forsake  her  ; 

Elves  of  light,  on  beamy  bars, 
Whisper  then,  and  wake  her. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  51 

Let  this  friendly  pebble  plead 

At  her  flowery  grating ; 
If  she  hear  me  will  she  heed  ? 

Mabel,  I  am  waiting, 

Mabel  will  be  deck'd  anon, 

Zoned  in  Bride's  apparel ; 
Happy  Zone  !     Oh  hark  to  yon 

Passion-shaken  carol ! 

Sing  thy  song,  thou  tranced  Thrush, 

Pipe  thy  best,  thy  clearest ; — 
Hush,  her  lattice  moves,  O  hush— 

Dearest  Mabel  I — dearest  .  •  R 


LONDON  LYRICS. 


ROTTEN   ROW. 

I  hope  I'm  fond  of  much  that's  good. 
As  well  as  much  that's  gay  ; 

I'd  like  the  country  if  I  could  ; 
I  love  the  Park  in  May : 

And  when  I  ride  in  Rotten  Row, 

I  wonder  why  they  call'd  it  so. 

A  lively  scene  on  turf  and  road  ; 

The  crowd  is  bravely  drest : 
The  Ladies'  Mile  has  overflow 'd, 

The  chairs  are  in  request : 
The  nimble  air,  so  soft,  so  clear, 
Can  hardly  stir  a  ringlet  here. 

I'll  halt  beneath  those  pleasant  trees,  - 

And  drop  my  bridle-rein, 
And,  quite  alone,  indulge  at  ease 

The  philosophic  vein  : 


LONDON  LYRICS.  53 

I'll  moralize  on  all  I  see — 
Yes,  it  was  all  arranged  for  me  ! 

Forsooth,  and  on  a  livelier  Spot 

The  sunbeam  never  shines. 
Fair  ladies  here  can  talk  and  trot 

With  statesmen  and  divines  : 
Could  I  have  chosen,  I'd  have  been 
A  Duke,  a  Beauty,  or  a  Dean. 

What  grooms  !    What  gallant  gentlemen  ! 

What  well-appointed  hacks ! 
What  glory  in  their  pace,  and  then 

What  beauty  on  their  backs  1 
My  Pegasus  would  never  flag 
If  weighted  as  my  Lady's  nag. 

But  where  is  now  the  courtly  troop 

That  once  rode  laughing  by  ? 
I  miss  the  curls  of  Cantilupe, 

The  laugh  of  Lady  Di  : 
They  all  could  laugh  from  night  to  morn, 
And  Time  has  laugh'd  them  all  to  scorn. 


54  L ONDON  L  YR1CS. 

I  then  could  frolic  in  the  van 
With  dukes  and  dandy  earls  ; 

Then  I  was  thought  a  nice  young  man 
By  rather  nice  young  girls  ! 

I've  half  a  mind  to  join  Miss  Browne, 

And  try  one  canter  up  and  down. 

Ah,  no— I'll  linger  here  awhile, 
And  dream  of  days  of  yore  ; 

For  me  bright  eyes  have  lost  the  smile, 
The  sunny  smile  they  wore  : — 

Perhaps  they  say,  what  I'll  allow, 

That  I'm  not  quite  so  handsome  now. 
1867. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  55 


LOULOU  AND  HER  CAT. 

You  shake  your  saucy  curls,  and  vow 
I  build  no  airy  castles  now  ; 
You  smile,  and  you  are  thinking  too, — 
He's  nothing  else  on  earth  to  do. 

Good  pastry  is  vended 

In  Cite  Fadette ; 
Maison  Pons  can  make  splendid 

Brioche  and  gahtte. 

M'st'eu  Pons  is  so  fat  that 
He's  laid  on  the  shelf; 

Madame  had  a  Cat  that 
Was  fat  as  herself. 


Long  hair,  soft  as  satin, 

A  musical  purr, 
'Gainst  the  window  she'd  flatten 

Her  delicate  fur. 


56  LONDON  LYRICS. 

I  drove  Lou  to  see  what 
Our  neighbours  were  at, — 

In  rapture,  cried  she,  "  What 
An  exquisite  Cat  1 

"What  whiskers  !    She's  purring 

All  over.     Regale 
Our  eyes,  Puss,  by  stirring 

Your  feathery  tail ! 

"M'sieu  Pons,  will  you  sell  her?" 
"Mafemme  est  sortie, 

Your  offer  I'll  tell  her; 
But — will  she  ?  "  says  he. 

Yet  Pons  was  persuaded 
To  part  with  the  prize  : 

(Our  bargain  was  aided, 
My  Lou,  by  your  eyes  !) 

From  his  legitime  save  him,— 

My  spouse  I  prefer, 
For  I  warrant  his  gave  him 

Un  mauvais  quart  d'heure. 


L  OND  ON  L  YRICS,  5  7 

I  am  giving  a  pleasant 

Grimalkin  to  Lou, 
—Ah,  Puss,  what  a  present 

I'm  giving  to  you  1 


58  L  OND ON  L  YRICS. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CUPBOARD. 

The  most  forlorn — wliat  worms  we  are  ! 
Would  wish  to  finish  this  cigar 
Before  departing. 

The  characters  of  great  and  small 

Come  ready  made,  we  can't  bespeak  one  ; 
Their  sides  are  many,  too,  and  all 

(Except  ourselves)  have  got  a  weak  one. 
Some  sanguine  people  love  for  life, 

Some  love  their  hobby  till  it  flings  them. 
How  many  love  a  pretty  Wife 

For  love  of  the  eclat  she  brings  them  ! 


A  little  to  relieve  my  mind 

I've  thrown  off  this  disjointed  chatter, 
But  more  because  I'm  disinclined 

To  enter  on  a  painful  matter  : 
Once  I  was  bashful ;  I'll  allow 

I've  blush'd  for  words  untimely  spoken  ; 


L  OND ON  L  YRICS.  59 

I  still  am  rather  shy,  and  now  .  .  . 
And  now  the  ice  is  fairly  broken. 

We  all  have  secrets  :  you  have  one 

Which  mayn't  be  quite  your  charming  spouse's  j 
We  all  lock  up  a  Skeleton 

In  some  grim  chamber  of  our  houses  ; 
Familiars  who  exhaust  their  days 

And  nights  in  probing  where  our  smart  is, 
And  who,  for  all  their  spiteful  ways, 

Are  "silent,  unassuming  Parties." 

We  hug  this  Phantom  we  detest, 

Rarely  we  let  it  cross  our  portals  : 
It  is  a  most  exacting  guest,  — 

Now,  are  we  not  afflicted  mortals  ? 
Your  neighbour  Gay,  that  jovial  wight, 

As  Dives  rich,  and  brave  as  Hector, 
Poor  Gay  steals  twenty  times  a  night, 

On  shaking  knees,  to  see  his  Spectre. 

Old  Dives  fears  a  pauper  fate, 

So  hoarding  in  his  ruling  passion ; — 


60  LONDON  L  YRICS. 

Some  gloomy  souls  anticipate 

A  waistcoat,  straiter  than  the  fashion  ! 

She  childless  pines,  that  lonely  wife, 
And  secret  tears  are  bitter  shedding  ; 

Hector  may  tremble  all  his  life, 

And  die, — but  not  of  that  he's  dreading. 
*  *  *  ♦ 

Ah  me,  the  World  !    How  fast  it  spins  ! 

The  beldams  dance,  the  caldron  bubbles  ; 
They  shriek,  they  stir  it  for  our  sins, 

And  we  must  drain  it  for  our  troubles. 
We  toil,  we  groan  ;  the  cry  for  Love 

Mounts  up  from  this  poor  seething  city, 
Yet  hope  I  will  we  have  above 

A  Father,  infinite  in  pity. 

When  Beauty  smiles,  when  Sorrow  weeps, 

Where  sunbeams  play,  where  shadows  darken, 
One  inmate  of  our  dwelling  keeps 

Its  ghastly  carnival ;  but  hearken  ! 
How  dry  the  rattle  of  the  bones  ! 

That  sound  was  not  to  make  you  start  meant : 
Stand  by  !   Your  humble  servant  owns 

The  Tenant  of  this  Dark  Apartment. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  61 


AN  INVITATION  TO   ROME,   AND 
THE  REPLY. 

THE   INVITATION. 

Oh,  come  to  Rome,  it  is  a  pleasant  place, 

Your  London  sun  is  here,  and  smiling  brightly  : 

The  Briton,  too,  puts  on  his  cheery  face, 
And  Mrs.  Bull  acquits  herself  politely. 

The  Romans  are  an  easy-going  race, 

With  simple  wives,  more  dignified  than  sprightly 

I  see  them  at  their  doors,  as  day  is  closing, 

Prouder  than  duchesses,  and  more  imposing. 

A  sweet  far  niente  life  promotes  the  graces  ; 

They  pass  from  dreamy  bliss  to  wakeful  glee, 
And  in  their  bearing  and  their  speech,  one  traces 

A  breadth,  a  depth — a  grace  of  courtesy 
Not  found  in  busy  or  inclement  places  ; 

Their  clime  and  tongue  are  much  in  harmony  : 
The  Cockney  met  in  Middlesex,  or  Surrey, 
Is  often  cold,  and  always  in  a  hurry. 


62  L ONDON  L  YRICS. 

Oh,  come  to  Rome,  nor  be  content  to  read 
Of  famous  palace  and  of  stately  street 

Whose  fountains  ever  run  with  joyful  speed, 
And  never-ceasing  murmur.     Here  we  greet 

Memnon's  vast  monolith  ;  or,  gay  with  weed, 
Rich  capitals,  as  corner-stone,  or  seat, 

The  site  of  vanish'd  temples,  where  now  moulder 

Old  ruins,  masking  ruin  even  older. 

Ay,  come,  and  see  the  statues,  pictures,  churches, 
Although  the  last  are  commonplace,  or  florid. — 

Who  say  'tis  here  that  superstition  perches  ? 
Myself  I'm  glad  the  marbles  have  been  quarried. 

The  sombre  streets  are  worthy  your  researches  : 
The  ways  are  foul,  the  lava  pavement's  horrid, 

But  pleasant  sights,  that  squeamishness  disparages, 

Are  miss'd  by  all  who  roll  along  in  carriages. 

I  dare  not  speak  of  Michael  Angelo, 

Such  theme  were  all  too  splendid  for  my  pen  : 

And  if  I  breathe  the  name  of  Sanzio 
(The  first  of  painters  and  of  gentlemen, ) 


LONDON  LYRICS.  63 

Is  it  that  love  casts  out  my  fear,  and  so 

I  claim  with  him  a  kindredship  ?    Ah,  when 
We  love,  the  name  is  on  our  hearts  engraven, 
As  is  thy  name,  my  own  dear  Bard  of  Avon. 

Nor  is  the  Coliseum  theme  of  mine, 
'Twas  built  for  poet  of  a  larger  daring  ; 

The  world  goes  there  with  torches  ;  I  decline 
Thus  to  affront  the  moonbeams  with  their  flaring. 

Some  time  in  May  our  forces  we'll  combine 
(Just  you  and  I),  and  try  a  midnight  airing. 

And  then  I'll  quote  this  rhyme  to  you — and  then 

You'll  muse  upon  the  vanity  of  men  ! 

Come  !    We  will  charter  such  a  pair  of  nags  ! 

The  country's  better  seen  when  one  is  riding : 
We'll  roam  where  yellow  Tiber  speeds  or  lags 

At  will.     The  aqueducts  are  yet  bestriding 
With  giant  march  (now  whole,  now  broken  crags 

With  flowers  plumed)  the  swelling  and  subsiding 
Campagna,  girt  by  purple  hills  aiar, 
That  melt  in  light  beneath  the  evening  star. 

F 


64  LONDON  LYRICS. 

A  drive  to  Palestrina  will  be  pleasant ; 

The  wild  fig  grows  where  erst  her  rampart  stood ; 
There  oft,  in  goat-skin  clad,  a  sunburnt  peasant 

Like  Pan  comes  frisking  from  his  ilex  wood, 
And  seems  to  wake  the  past  time  in  the  present. 

Fair  eontadina,  mark  his  mirthful  mood  ; 
No  antique  satyr  he.     The  nimble  fellow 
Can  join  with  jollity  your  salta7'ello. 

Old  sylvan  peace  and  liberty  !    The  breath 

Of  life  to  unsophisticated  man. 
Here  Mirth  may  pipe,  Love  here  may  weave  his 
wreath, 

"Per  da?J  al  mio  dene."     When  you  can, 
Come  share  their  leafy  solitudes.     Pale  Death 

And  Time  are  grudging  of  our  little  span  : 
Wan  Time  speeds  lightly  o'er  the  changing  corn, 
Death  grins  from  yonder  cynical  old  thorn. 

Oh,  come  !    I  send  a  leaf  of  April  fern, 
It  grew  where  beauty  lingers  round  decay  : 

Ashes  long  buried  in  a  sculptured  urn 

Are  not  more  dead  than  Rome — so  dead  to-day  ! 


LONDON  LYRICS.  6$ 

That  better  time,  for  which  the  patriots  yearn, 

Delights  the  gaze,  again  to  fade  away. 
They  wait,  they  pine  for  what  is  long  denied, 
And  thus  wait  I  till  thou  art  by  my  side. 

Thou'rt  far  away  !    Yet,  while  I  write,  I  still 
Seem  gently,  Sweet,  to  clasp  thy  hand  in  mine ; 

I  cannot  bring  myself  to  drop  the  quill, 
I  cannot  yet  thy  little  hand  resign  ! 

The  plain  is  fading  into  darkness  chill, 

The  Sabine  peaks  are  flush 'd  with  light  divine, 

I  watch  alone,  my  fond  thought  wings  to  thee  ; 

Oh,  come  to  Rome.     Oh  come, — oh  come  to  me  1 
1863. 

THE  REPLY. 

Dear  Exile,  I  was  proud  to  get 

Your  rhyme,  I've  laid  it  up  in  cotton ; 

You  know  that  you  are  all  to  tlPet" — 
I  fear'd  that  I  was  quite  forgotten  ! 

Mamma,  who  scolds  me  when  I  mope, 
Insists,  and  she  is  wise  as  gentle, 


66  LONDON  LYJtICS. 

That  I  am  still  in  love  !    I  hope 
That  you  feel  rather  sentimental ! 

Perhaps  you  think  your  Loveforlore 

Should  pine  unless  her  slave  be  with  her  % 
Of  course  you're  fond  of  Rome,  and  more — 

Of  course  you'd  like  to  coax  me  thither  ! 
Che!  quit  this  dear  delightful  maze 

Of  calls  and  balls,  to  be  intensely 
Discomfited  in  fifty  ways — 

I  like  your  confidence,  immensely  ! 

Some  girls  who  love  to  ride  and  race, 

And  live  for  dancing,  like  the  Bruens, 
Confess  that  Rome's  a  charming  place — 

In  spite  of  all  the  stupid  ruins  ! 
I  think  it  might  be  sweet  to  pitch 

One's  tent  beside  those  reeds  of  Tiber, 
And  all  that  sort  of  thing,  of  which 

Dear  Hawthorne's  "quite  "  the  best  describer. 

To  see  stone  pines  and  marble  gods 
In  garden  alleys  red  with  roses ; 


L  OND  ON  L  YRICS.  6  7 

The  Perch  where  Pio  Nono  nods  ; 

The  Church  where  Raphael  reposes. 
Make  pleasant  giros — when  we  may ; 

Jump  stagionate  (where  they're  easy  !) 
And  play  croquet;  the  Bruens  say 

There's  turf  behind  the  Ludovisi ! 

I'll  bring  my  books,  though  Mrs.  Mee 

Says  packing  books  is  such  a  worry ; 
I'll  bring  my  Golden  Treasury, 

Manzoni,  and,  of  course,  a  "Murray  !  " 
Your  verses  (if  you  so  advise  !) 

A  Dante — Auntie  owns  a  quarto  ; 
I'll  try  and  buy  a  smaller  size, 

And  read  him  on  the  Micro  Torto. 

But  can  I  go  ?    La  Madre  thinks 

It  would  be  such  an  undertaking  ! 
(I  wish  we  could  consult  a  sphinx  !) 

The  very  thought  has  left  her  quaking  ! 
Papa  (we  do  not  mind  papa) 

Has  got  some  "  notice  "  of  some  "  motion," 
And  could  not  stay  ;  but,  why  not, — ah, 

I've  not  the  very  slightest  notio    ! 


68  LONDON  LYRICS. 

The  Browns  have  come  to  stay  a  week, 

They've  brought  the  boys — I  haven't  thank'd  'em; 
For  Baby  Grand,  and  Baby  Pic, 

Are  playing  cricket  in  my  sanctum  ! 
Your  Rover,  too,  affects  my  den, 

And  when  I  pat  the  dear  old  whelp,  it  .  • 
It  makes  me  think  of  You,  and  then  .  . 

And  then  I  cry— I  cannot  help  it. 

Ah  yes,  before  you  left  me,  ere 

Our  separation  was  impending, 
These  eyes  had  seldom  shed  a  tear, 

I  thought  my  joy  could  have  no  ending ! 
But  cloudlets  gather'd  soon,  and  this — 

This  was  the  first  that  rose  to  grieve  me  ; 
To  know  that  I  possess'd  the  bliss, — 

For  then  I  knew  such  bliss  might  leave  me  ! 

My  strain  is  sad,  yet,  oh,  believe 
Your  words  have  made  my  spirit  better ; 

And  if,  perhaps,  at  times  I  grieve, 
I'd  meant  to  write  a  cheeiy  letter ; 


LONDON  LYRICS.  69 

But  skies  were  dull ;   Rome  sounded  hot, 

I  fancied  I  could  live  without  it  : 
I  thought  I'd  go,  I  thought  I'd  not, 

And  then  I  thought  I'd  think  about  it. 

The  sun  now  glances  o'er  the  Park, 

If  tears  are  on  my  cheek,  they  glitter ; 
I  think  I've  kiss'd  your  rhyme,  for  hark, 

My  bulley  gives  a  saucy  twitter  ! 
Your  blessed  words  extinguish  doubt, 

A  sudden  breeze  is  gaily  blowing ; 
And  hark  !    The  Minster  bells  ring  out — 

She  ought  to  go.     Of  course  she's  going  t 
18&3. 


V 


70      .  LONDON  LYRICS. 


TO  MY   MISTRESS. 

His  musings  were  trite,  and  their  burthen,  forsooth, 
Tlie  -wisdom  of  age  atid  the  folly  of  youth. 

Marquise,  I  see  the  flying  year, 
And  feel  how  Time  is  wasting  here  : 
Ay  more,  he  soon  his  worst  will  do, 
And  garner  all  your  roses  too. 

It  pleases  Time  to  fold  his  wings 
Around  our  best  and  fairest  things  j 
He'll  mar  your  blooming  cheek,  as  now 
He  stamps  his  mark  upon  my  brow. 

The  same  mute  planets  rise  and  shine 
To  rule  your  days  and  nights  as  mine  : 
Once  I  was  young  and  gay,  and  see  ! .  • 
What  I  am  now  you  soon  will  be. 

And  yet  I  vaunt  a  certain  charm 
That  shields  me  from  your  worst  alarm, 
And  bids  me  gaze,  with  front  sublime, 
On  all  these  ravages  of  Time. 


LONDON  LYRICS. 

You  boast  a  gift  that  blooms  and  dies, 
I  boast  a  gift  that  change  defies  : 
For  mine  will  still  be  mine,  and  last 
When  all  your  pride  of  beauty's  past. 

My  gift  will  long  embalm  the  lures 
Of  eyes — ah,  beautiful  as  yours  : 
For  ages  hence  the  great  and  good 
Will  judge  you  as  I  choose  they  should. 

In  days  to  come  the  peer  or  clown, 
With  whom  I  still  shall  win  renown, 
Will  only  know  that  you  were  fair 
Because  I  chanced  to  say  you  were. 

Proud  Lady  !    Scornful  beauty  mocks 
At  aged  heads  and  silver  locks  ; 
But  think  awhile  before  you  fly 
Or  spurn  a  Poet  such  as  I. 
Kenwood  :  July  21,  1864. 


72  LONDON  LYRICS. 

CIRCUMSTANCE. 

THE  ORANGE. 

It  ripen'd  by  the  river  banks, 

Where,  mask  and  moonlight  aiding, 

Dons  Bias  and  Juan  play  their  pranks, 
Dark  Donnas  serenading. 

By  Moorish  damsel  it  was  pluck'd, 
Beneath  the  golden  day  there ; 

By  swain  'twas  then  in  London  suck'd, 
Who  flung  the  peel  away  there. 

He  could  not  know  in  Pimlico, 

As  little  she  in  Seville, 
That  I  should  reel  upon  that  peel, 

And— wish  them  at  the  devil. 

1856. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  73 


YORICK'S  FUNERAL. 

***** 
That  day,  will  there  be  one  to  shed 

A  tear  behind  the  Hearse  ? 
Or  cry,  "  Poor  Yorick,  are  you  dead? 

I  could  have  spared  a  worse  : 
We  never  spoke  ;  we  never  met  j 
I  never  heard  your  voice,  and  yet 

/  loved  you  for  your  verse  ?  " 
Such  love  would  make  the  flowers  wave 
In  gladness  on  their  Poet's  Grave. 

A  few,  few  years,  like  one  short  week, 

Will  pass,  and  leave  behind 
A  Stone  moss-grown,  that  none  will  seek, 

And  none  would  care  to  find. 
Then  I  shall  sleep,  and  gain  release 
In  perfect  rest — the  perfect  peace 

For  which  my  soul  has  pined  j 
And  still  some  Fool  will  laugh  and  weep— 
A  weary  Fool  who  sues  for  sleep. 


74  LONDON  LYRICS. 


PICCADILLY. 

Her  eyes  and  her  hair 

Are  superb l 
She  stands  in  despair 

On  the  Kerb. 
Quick,  Stranger,  advance 

To  her  aid: — 
She's  across,  with  a  glance 

Yoii 're  repaid. 
She  s  Fair,  and  you're  Tail, 

fal-lal-la!— 
What  will  come  oj  it  all? 

Chi  lo  sa  ! 

Cupid  on  the  Crossing. 

Piccadilly  !  Shops,  palaces,  bustle,  and  breeze, 
The  whirring  of  wheels,  and  the  murmur  of  trees  ; 
By  night  or  by  day,  whether  noisy  or  stilly, 
Whatever  my  mood  is,  I  love  Piccadilly. 

Wet  nights,  when   the  gas   on   the  pavement    is 

streaming, 
And  young  Love  is  watching,  and  old  Love   is 

dreaming, 
And  Beauty  is  whirling  to  conquest,  where  shrilly 
Cremona  makes  nimble  thy  toes,  Piccadilly  I 


LONDON  LYRICS.  75 

Bright  days,  when  a  stroll  is  my  afternoon  wont, 
And  I  meet  all  the  people  I  do  know,  or  don't : 
Here  is  jolly  old  Brown,  and  his  fair  daughter 

Lillie— 
No  wonder,  young  Pilgrim,  you  like  Piccadilly  ! 

See  yonder  pair  riding,  how  fondly  they  saunter, 
She  smiles  on  her  Poet,  whose  heart's  in  a  canter  ! 
Some  envy  her  spouse,  and  some  covet  her  filly, 
He  envies  them  both, — he's  an  ass,  Piccadilly  ! 

Now  were  I  such  a  bride,  with  a  slave  at  my  feet, 
I  would  choose  me  a  house  in  my  favourite  Street ; 
Yes  or  no — I  would  carry  my  point,  willy-nilly  : 
If  "  no," — pick  a  quarrel ;  if  "  yes," — Piccadilly  ! 

From  Primrose  balcony,  long  ages  ago, 
"Old  Q."  sat  at  gaze, — who  now  passes  below? 
A  frolicsome  statesman,  the  Man  of  the  Day ; 
A  laughing  philosopher,  gallant  and  gay  ; 
Never  darling  of  fortune  more  manfully  trod, 
Full  of  years,  full  of  fame,  and  the  world  at  his  nod, 


76  LONDON  LYRICS. 

Can  the  thought  reach  his  heart,  and  then  leave  it 

more  chilly — 
Old  P.  or  old  Q.,— I  must  quit  Piccadilly  "  ? 

Life  is  chequerM  ;   a  patchwork  of  smiles  and  of 

frowns ; 
We  value  its  ups,  let  us  muse  on  its  downs  ; 
There's  a  side  that  is  bright,  it  will  then  turn  us 

t'other, 
One  turn,  if  a  good  one,  deserves  yet  another. 
These  downs  are  delightful,   these  ups  are  not 

hilly,— 
Let  us  turn  one  more  turn  ere  we  quit  Piccadilly. 


>c 


LONDON  LYRICS.  77 


A  NICE  CORRESPONDENT. 

"  There  are  plenty  of  roses  "  (the  patriarch  speaks) 
"  A/as  not  for  me,  on  your  lips  and  your  cheeks  ; 
Fair  maiden  rose-laden  enoitgh  and  to  spare, 
Spare,  spare  tne  that  rose  that  you  wear  in  yoicr  hair* 

The  glow  and  the  glory  are  plighted 
To  darkness,  for  evening  is  come  ; 

The  lamp  in  Glebe  Cottage  is  lighted, 
The  birds  and  the  sheep-bells  are  dumb. 

I'm  alone,  for  the  others  have  flitted 
To  dine  with  a  neighbour  at  Kew  : 

Alone,  but  I'm  not  to  be  pitied — 
I'm  thinking  of  you  ! 

I  wish  you  were  here  !     Were  I  duller 
Than  dull,  you'd  be  dearer  than  dear ; 

I  am  drest  in  your  favourite  colour — 
Dear  Fred,  how  I  wish  you  were  here  I 

I  am  wearing  my  lazuli  necklace, 
The  necklace  you  fasten'd  askew  ! 

Was  there  ever  so  rude  or  so  reckless 
A  Darling  as  you  ? 


78  LONDON  LYRICS. 

I  want  you  to  come  and  pass  sentence 
On  two  or  three  books  with  a  plot ; 

Of  course  you  know  "Janet's  Repentance?" 
I  am  reading  Sir  Waverley  Scott, 

That  story  of  Edgar  and  Lucy, 

How  thrilling,  romantic,  and  true  ! 

The  Master  (his  bride  was  a  goosey  !) 
Reminds  me  of  you. 

They  tell  me  Cockaigne  has  been  crowning 
A  Poet  whose  garland  endures; — 

It  was  you  that  first  told  me  of  Browning,— 
That  stupid  old  Browning  of  yours  ! 

His  vogue  and  his  verve  are  alarming, 
I'm  anxious  to  give  him  his  due, 

But,  Fred,  he's  not  nearly  so  charming 
A  Poet  as  you  ! 

I  heard  how  you  shot  at  The  Beeches, 
I  saw  how  you  rode  Chanticleer, 

I  have  read  the  report  of  your  speeches, 
And  echo'd  the  echoing  cheer: 


LONDON  LYRICS.  79 

There's  a  whisper  of  hearts  you  are  breaking, 

Dear  Fred,  I  believe  it,  I  do  ! 
Small  marvel  that  Folly  is  making 
Her  Idol  of  you  ! 

Alas  for  the  World,  and  its  dearly 
Bought  triumph,  its  fugitive  bliss  ; 

Sometimes  I  half  wish  I  were  merely 
A  plain  or  a  penniless  Miss  ; 

Cut,  perhaps,  one  is  best  with  "  a  measure 
Of  pelf,"  and  I'm  not  sorry,  too, 

That  I'm  pretty,  because  it's  a  pleasure, 
My  Darling,  to  you  ! 

Your  whim  is  for  frolic  and  fashion, 
Your  taste  is  for  letters  and  art  ;— 
This  rhyme  is  the  commonplace  passion 
That  glows  in  a  fond  Woman's  heart  : 
Lay  it  by  in  some  sacred  deposit 
For  relics — we  all  have  a  few  ! 
Love,  some  day  they'll  print  it,  because  it 
Was  written  to  You. 
iS58. 

G 


8o  LONDON  LYRICS. 


MY  SONG. 

You  ask  a  Song, 
Such  as  of  yore,  an  autumn's  eventide, 
Some  blest  Boy-Poet  carolTd, — and  then  died. 
Nay,  /  have  sung  too  long. 

Say,  shall  I  fling 
A  sigh  to  Beauty  at  her  window-pane  ? 
I  sang  there  once,  may  not  I  once  again  ? 
Or  tell  me  whom  to  sing. 

— The  peer  of  Peers  ? 
Lord  of  the  wealth  that  gives  his  time  employ ; 
Time  to  possess,  but  hardly  to  enjoy — 
He  cannot  need  my  tears. 

— The  man  of  Mind, 
Or  Priest,  who  darkens  what  was  never  day 
I  cannot  sing  them,  yet  I  will  not  say 

Such  guides  are  wholly  blind. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  8i 

—The  Orator? 
He  quiet  lies  where  yon  fresh  hillock  heaves  : 
'Twere  well  to  sprinkle  there  those  laurel-leaves 
He  won,  but  never  wore. 

Or  shall  I  twine 
The  Cypress  ?    Wreath  of  glory  and  of  gloom.— 
To  march  a  gallant  Soldier  to  his  doom 
Needs  fuller  voice  than  mine. 

No  Lay  have  I, 
No  murmur'd  measure  meet  for  your  delight, 
No  Song  of  Love  and  Death,  to  make  you  quite 
Forget  that  we  must  die. 

Something  is  wrong ; 
The  World  is  over-wise ;  or,  more's  the  pity, 
These  days  are  far  too  busy  for  a  Ditty, 
Yet  take  it,— take  My  Song. 
i376. 


82  LONDON  LYRICS. 


REPLY  TO  A  LETTER  ENCLOSING    A 
LOCK  OF  HAIR. 

She  laugh 'd— she  climb* d  the  giddy  height ; 

I  held  that  climber  small; 
I  even  held  her  ratJier  tight, 

For  fear  that  she  should  fall. 
A  dozen  girls  were  chirping  round% 

Like  fve-and-twenty  linnets; — 
/  must  have  held  her,  I'll  be  bound, 

Some  fve-and-twenty  minutes. 

Yes,  you  were  false,  and,  though  I'm  free, 

I  still  would  be  that  slave  of  yore  ; 
Then,  join'd,  our  years  were  thirty-three, 

And  now, — yes  now  I'm  thirty-four. 
And  though  you  were  not  learned  .  .   .  well, 

I  was  not  anxious  you  should  grow  so  ; 
I  trembled  once  beneath  her  spell 

Whose  spelling  was  extremely  so-so. 

Bright  season  !  why  will  Memory 

Still  haunt  the  path  our  rambles  took  ; 


LONDON  LYRICS.  S3 

The  sparrow's  nest  that  made  you  cry, 

The  lilies  captured  in  the  brook  ? 
I'd  lifted  you  from  side  to  side, 

You  seem'd  as  light  as  that  poor  sparrow  ; 
I  know  who  wish'd  it  twice  as  wide, 

I  think  you  thought  it  rather  narrow. 

Time  was,  indeed  a  little  while, 

My  pony  could  your  heart  compel ; 
And  once,  beside  the  meadow-stile, 

I  thought  you  loved  me  just  as  well ; 
I  'd  kiss'd  your  cheek  ;  in  sweet  surprise 

Your  troubled  gaze  said  plainly,  "Should  he  ?  " 
But  doubt  soon  fled  those  daisy  eyes, — 

"  He  could  not  mean  to  vex  me,  could  he  ?  " 

'I  'he  brightest  eyes  are  soonest  sad, 
But  your  rose  cheek,  so  lightly  sway'd, 

Could  ripple  into  dimples  glad  ; 

For  oh,  fair  Friend,  what  mirth  we  made  ! 

The  brightest  tears  are  soonest  dried, 
But  your  young  love  and  dole  were  stable  ; 


84  LONDON  LYRICS 

You  wept  when  dear  old  Rover  died, 

You  wept — and  dress'd  your  dolls  in  sable. 

As  year  succeeds  to  year,  the  more 

Imperfect  life's  fruition  seems  ; 
Our  dreams,  as  baseless  as  of  yore, 

Are  not  the  same  enchanting  dreams. 
The  girls  I  love  now  vote  me  slow, 

How  dull  the  boys  who  once  seem'd  witty  ! 
Perhaps  I'm  growing  old,  I  know 

I'm  still  romantic,  more's  the  pity. 

Vain  the  regret  I    To  few,  perchance, 

Unknown,  and  profitless  to  all : 
The  wisely-gay,  as  years  advance, 

Are  gaily-wise.     Whate'er  befall, 
We'll  laugh  at  folly,  whether  seen 

Beneath  a  chimney  or  a  steeple  ; 
At  yours,  at  mine — our  own,  I  mean, 

As  well  as  that  of  other  people. 

I'm  fond  of  fun,  the  mental  dew 

Where  wit,  and  truth,  and  ruth  are  blent ; 


LONDON  LYRICS.  85 

And  yet  I've  known  a  prig  or  two, 
Who,  wanting  all,  were  all  content ! 

To  say  I  hate  such  dismal  men 

Might  be  esteem'd  a  strong  assertion ; 

If  I've  blue  devils,  now  and  then, 
I  make  them  dance  for  my  diversion. 

And  here's  your  letter  debonair— 

"  My  Friend,  my  dear  old  Friend  of  yore, " 
And  is  this  Curl  your  Daughter's  hair  ? 

I've  seen  the  Titian  tint  before. 
Are  we  the  Pair  that  used  to  pass 

Long  days  beneath  the  chestnut  shady  ? 
You  then  were  such  a  pretty  Lass ; 

I'm  told  you're  now  as  fair  a  Lady. 

I've  laugh'd  to  hide  the  tear  I  shed, 

As  when  the  Jester's  bosom  swells, 
And  mournfully  he  shakes  his  head, 

We  hear  the  jingle  of  his  bells. 
A  jesting  vein  your  Poet  vex'd, 

And  this  poor  rhyme,  the  Fates  determine, 
Without  a  parson  or  a  text, 

Has  proved  a  rather  prosy  sermon. 
1859. 


86  LONDON  LYRICS. 


A  RHYME  OF  ONE. 

Vou  sleep  upon  your  mother's  breast. 

Your  race  begun, 
A  welcome,  long  a  wish'd-for  Guest, 

Whose  age  is  One. 

A  Baby-Boy,  you  wonder  why 

You  cannot  run ; 
You  try  to  talk — how  hard  you  try ! 

You're  only  One. 

Ere  long  you  won't  be  such  a  dunce  ; 

You'll  eat  your  bun, 
And  fly  your  kite,  like  folk,  who  once 

Were  only  One. 

You'll  rhyme  and  woo,  and  fight  and  joke, 
Perhaps  you'll  pun  1 

Such  feats  are  never  done  by  folk 
Before  they're  One. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  87 

Some  day,  too,  you  may  have  your  joy, 

And  envy  none ; 
Yes,  you,  yourself,  may  own  a  Boy, 

Who  isn't  One. 

He'll  dance,  and  laugh,  and  crow  ;  he'll  do 

As  you  have  done  : 
(You  crown  a  happy  home,  though  you 

Are  only  One). 

But  when  he's  grown  shall  you  be  here 

To  share  his  fun, 
And  talk  of  times  when  he  (the  Dear  !) 

Was  hardly  One  ? 

Dear  Child,  'tis  your  poor  lot  to  be 

My  little  Son ; 
I'm  glad,  though  I  am  old,  you  see,-" 

While  you  are  One.    J 
1876. 


1  LONDON  LYRICS. 

LITTLE  DINKY. 

(a  rhyme  of  less  than  one.) 

The  hair  she  means  to  have  is  gold, 

Her  eyes  are  blue,  she's  twelve  weeks  old, 

Plump  are  her  fists  and  pinky. 
She  flutter'd  down  in  lucky  hour 
From  some  blue  deep  in  yon  sky  bower — 

I  call  her  Little  Dinky. 

A  Tiny  now,  ere  long  she'll  please 
To  totter  at  my  parent-knees, 

And  crow,  and  try  to  chatter  : 
And  soon  she'll  take  to  fair  white  frocks, 
And  frisk  about  in  shoes  and  socks, — 

Her  totter  changed  to  patter. 

And  soon  she'll  play,  ay,  soon  enough, 
At  cowslip-ball  and  blindman's-buffj 
And,  some  day,  we  shall  find  her 


LONDON  LYRICS.  89 

Grow  weary  of  her  toys,  indeed 
She'll  fling  them  all  aside  to  heed 
A  footstep  close  behind  her  ! 

As  time  runs  on  she'll  still  be  rich 

In  much  that's  left,  the  joys  with  which 

Our  love  can  aye  supply  us ; 
For  hand  in  hand  we'll  sit  us  down 
Right  cheerfully,  and  let  the  town— 

This  foolish  town,  go  by  us. 

Dinky,  we  must  resign  our  toys 
To  younger  girls,  to  finer  boys, 

But  we'll  not  care  a  feather, 
Lor  then  {reflection's  not  regret) 
Though  you'll  be  rather  old  I  will  yet 

Be  Boy  and  Girl  together. 
*  *  * 

As  I  was  climbing  Ludgate  Hill 
I  met  a  goose  who  dropt  a  quill, 

You  see  my  thumb  is  inky ; 
I  fell  to  scribble  there  and  then, 
And  this  is  how  I  came  to  pen, 

These  rhymes  on  Little  Dinky. 
1878. 


9Q  LONDON  LYRICS. 


ANY  POET  TO   HIS  LOVE. 

Immortal  Verse  !    Is  mine  the  strain 
To  last  and  live  ?    As  ages  wane 
What  hand  for  me  will  twine  the  bays  ? 
Who'll  praise  me  then  as  now  you  praise  ? 

Will  there  be  one  to  praise  ?    Ah  no  ! 
My  laurel  leaf  may  never  grow  ; 
My  bust  is  in  the  quarry  yet, 
Oblivion  weaves  my  coronet. 

Immortal  for  a  month — a  week  ! 
The  garlands  wither  as  I  speak  ; 
The  song  will  die,  the  harp's  unstrung. 
But,  singing,  have  I  vainly  sung  ? 

You  deign'd  to  lend  an  ear  the  while 
I  trill'd  my  lay.     I  won  Your  smile. 
Now,  let  it  die,  or  let  it  live, — 
My  verse  was  all  I  had  to  give. 


LONDON  L  YRICS.  91 

The  linnet  flies  on  wistful  wings, 
And  finds  a  Bower,  and  lights  and  sings  ; 
Enough  if  my  poor  verse  endures 
To  light  and  live — to  die  in  Yours. 
1875. 


92  LONDON  LYRICS. 


IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN. 

A  friendly  bird  with  bosom  red 
Is  fluting  near  my  garden  seat ; 

Your  sky  is  fair  above  my  head, 
And  Tweed  rejoices  at  my  feet. 

The  squirrels  gambol  in  the  oak, 
Here,  all  is  glad,  but  you  prefer 

To  linger  on  amid  the  smoke 
Of  stony-hearted  Westminster. 

Again  I  read  your  letter  through,— 
"How  zvonderful  is  fate's  decree, 

How  sweet  is  all  your  life  to  you, 
And  oh,  how  sad  is  mine  to  vie. " 

I  know  your  wail,  who  knows  it  not  ?- 
He  gave, — He  taketh  that  He  gave. 

Yours  is  the  lot,  the  common  lot, 
To  go  down  weeping  to  the  grave. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  93 

Sad  journey  to  a  dark  abyss, 

Meet  ending  of  your  sorrow  keen, — 

The  burden  of  my  dirge  is  this, 

And  this  my  woe, — It  might  have  been  I 

Dear  bird  !  Blithe  bird  that  singst  in  frost, 

Forgive  my  friend  if  he  is  sad  ; 
He  mourns  what  he  has  only  lost, — 
I  weep  what  I  have  never  had. 
Lees,  September  27,  1873. 


94  LONDON  LYRICS. 


THE  CUCKOO. 

We  heard  it  calling,  clear  and  low, 

That  tender  April  morn ;  we  stood 
And  listened  in  the  quiet  wood, 

We  heard  it,  ay,  long  years  ago. 

It  came,  and  with  a  strange,  sweet  cry, 
A  Friend,  but  from  a  far-off  land  ; 
We  stood  and  listened,  hand  in  hand, 

And  heart  to  heart,  my  Love  and  I. 

In  dreamland  then  we  found  our  joy, 
And  so  it  seem'd  as  'twere  the  Bird 
That  Helen  in  old  times  had  heard 

At  noon  beneath  the  oaks  of  Troy. 

O  time  far  off,  and  yet  so  near  ! 

It  came  to  her  in  that  hush'd  grove, 
It  warbled  while  the  wooing  throve, 

It  sang  the  song  she  loved  to  hear. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  95 

A.nd  now  I  hear  its  voice  again, 

And  still  its  message  is  of  peace, 
It  sings  of  love  that  will  not  cease— 

For  me  it  never  sings  in  vain. 


96  L  OND  ON  L  YRICS. 

TO  LINA  OSWALD. 

(aged  five  years.) 

I  tumble  out  of  bed  betimes 
To  make  my  love  these  toddling  rhymes 
And  meet  the  hour,  and  meet  the  place 
To  bless  her  blithe  good-morning  face. 
I  send  her  all  this  heart  can  store  ; 
I  seem  to  see  her  as  before, 
An  angel-child,  divinely  fair, 
With  meek  blue  eyes,  and  golden  hair, 
Curls  tipt  with  changing  light,  that  shed 
A  little  glory  round  her  head. 

Has  poet  ever  sung  or  seen  a 
Sweeter,  wiser  child  than  Lina  ? 
Blue  are  her  sash  and  snood,  and  blue's 
The  hue  of  her  bewitching  shoes  ; 
But,  saving  these,  she's  virgin  dight, 
A  happy  creature  clad  in  white. 


LONDON  LYRICS.  97 

Again  she  stands  beneath  the  boughs, 
Reproves  the  pup,  and  feeds  the  cows  ; 
Unvexed  by  rule,  unscared  by  ill, 
She  wanders  at  her  own  sweet  will ; 
For  what  grave  fiat  could  confine 
My  little  charter'd  libertine, 
Yet  free  from  feeling  or  from  seeing 
The  burthen  of  her  moral  being  ? 

But  change  must  come,  and  forms  and  dyes 
Will  change  before  her  changing  eyes ; 
She'll  learn  to  blush,  and  hope,  and  fear — 
And  where  shall  I  be  then,  my  dear  ? 

Little  gossip,  set  apart 
But  one  small  corner  of  thy  heart ; 
There  still  is  one  not  quite  employ'd, 
So  let  me  find  and  fill  that  void  ; 
Run  then,  and  jump,  and  laugh,  and  play 
But  love  me  though  I'm  far  away. 
Broomhall,  September,  1868. 


98  LONDON  LYRICS 


THE  JESTER'S  MORAL. 

Is  Human  Life  a  pleasant  game 

That  gives  the  palm  to  all  ? 
A  fight  for  fortune,  or  for  fame, 

A  struggle,  and  a  fall  ? 
Who  views  the  Past,  and  all  he  prized, 

With  tranquil  exultation  ? 
And  who  can  say — Ive  realized 

My  fondest  aspiration  ? 

Alack,  not  one.    No,  rest  assured 

That  all  are  prone  to  quarrel 
With  Fate,  when  worms  destroy  their  gourd, 

Or  mildew  spoils  their  laurel : 
The  prize  may  come  to  cheer  our  lot, 

But  all  too  late  ;  and  granted 
If  even  better,  still  it's  not 

Exactly  what  we  wanted. 

My  schoolboy  time  !    I  wish  to  praise 
That  bud  of  brief  existence  ; 


LONDON  LYRICS.  99 

The  vision  of  my  younger  days 

Now  trembles  in  the  distance. 
An  envious  vapour  lingers  here, 

And  there  I  find  a  chasm ; 
But  much  remains,  distinct  and  clear, 

To  sink  enthusiasm. 

Such  thoughts  just  now  disturb  my  soul 

With  reason  good,  for  lately 
I  took  the  train  to  Marley-knoll, 

And  cross'd  the  fields  to  Mately. 
I  found  old  Wheeler  at  his  gate, 

He  once  rare  sport  could  show  me, 
My  Mentor  wise  on  springe  and  bait — 

But  Wheeler  did  not  know  me. 

"  Goodlord  !  "  at  last  exclaim'd  the  churl, 

"Are  you  the  little  chap,  sir, 
What  used  to  train  his  hair  in  curl, 

And  wore  a  scarlet  cap,  sir  ?  " 
And  then  he  took  to  fill  in  blanks, 

And  conjure  up  old  faces  ; 
And  talk  of  well-remember'd  pranks 

In  half-forgotten  places. 


ioo  LONDON  LYRICS. 

It  pleased  the  man  to  tell  his  brief 

And  rather  mournful  story, — 
Old  Bliss's  school  had  come  to  grief, 

And  Bliss  had  "  gone  to  glory." 
Fell'd  were  his  trees,  his  house  was  razed, 

And  what  less  keenly  pain'd  me, 
A  venerable  Donkey  grazed 

Exactly  where  he  caned  me. 

An  1  where  have  school-  and  playmate  sped,. 

Whose  ranks  were  once  so  serried  ? 
Why  some  are  wed,  and  some  are  dead, 

And  some  are  only  buried  j 
Frank  Petre,  erst  so  full  of  fun, 

Is  now  St.  Blaise's  Prior, 
And  Travers,  the  attorney's  son, 

Is  member  for  the  shire. 

Dull  maskers  we.     Life's  festival 
Enchants  the  blithe  new-comer  ; 

But  seasons  change  j — then  where  are  all 
Those  friendships  of  our  summer  ? 


LONDON  LYRICS.  101 

Wan  pilgrims  flit  athwart  our  track, 

Cold  looks  attend  the  meeting ; 
We  only  greet  them,  glancing  back, 

Or  pass  without  a  greeting. 


Old  Bliss  I  owe  some  rubs,  but  pride 

Constrains  me  to  postpone  'em,  — 
Something  he  taught  me,  ere  he  died, 

About  nil  nisi  bonnm. 
I've  met  with  wiser,  better  men, 

But  I  forgive  him  wholly  ; 
Perhaps  his  jokes  were  sad,  but  then 

He  used  to  storm  so  drolly. 

"  I  still  can  laugh  "  is  still  my  boast, 

But  mirth  has  sounded  gayer ; 
And  which  provokes  my  laughter  most, 

The  preacher  or  the  player  ? 
Alack,  I  cannot  laugh  at  what 

Once  made  us  laugh  so  freely  j 
For  Nestroy  and  Grassot  are  not ; 

And  where  is  Mr.  Keeley  ? 


102  LONDON  LYRICS. 

I'll  join  St.  Blaise  (a  verseman  fit, 

More  fit  than  I,  once  did  it) 
— /  shave  my  crown  ?    No,  Common-Wit, 

And  Common- Sense  forbid  it 
I'd  sooner  dress  your  Little  Miss 

As  Paulet  shaves  his  poodles  1 
As  soon  propose  for  Betsy  Bliss, 

Or  get  proposed  for  Boodle's. 

We  prate  of  Life's  illusive  dyes, 

And  yet  fond  Hope  misleads  us ; 
We  all  believe  we  near  the  prize, 

Till  some  fresh  dupe  succeeds  us  ! 
And  yet,  though  Life's  a  riddle,  though 

No  Clerk  has  yet  explain'd  it, 
I  still  can  hope  j  for  well  I  know 

That  Love  has  thus  ordain'd  it. 
Paris,  November,  1864, 


NOTES. 

"A  Human  Skull." 

*'In  our  last  month's  Magazine  you  may  re- 
member there  were  some  verses  about  a  portion  of 
a  skeleton.  Did  you  remark  how  the  poet  and  pre- 
sent proprietor  of  the  human  skull  at  once  settled 
the  sex  of  it,  and  determined  off-hand  that  it  must 
have  belonged  to  a  woman?  Such  skulls  are 
locked  up  in  many  gentlemen's  hearts  and 
memories.  Bluebeard,  you  know,  had  a  whole 
museum  of  them — as  that  imprudent  little  last 
wife  of  his  found  out  to  her  cost.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  a  lady,  we  suppose,  would  select 
hers  of  the  sort  which  had  carried  beards  when 
in  the  flesh." — Adventures  oj  Philip  on  his  Way 
through  the  World.  Cornhill  Magazine,  January, 
1861. 


104  NOTES. 

"St.  James's  Street." 
I  hope  my  readers,  whoever  they  may  be,  will 
not  credit  me  with  all  the  sentiments  expressed 
in  this  volume.  I  am  told  that  these  lines  have 
disturbed  some  Americans,  but  surely  without 
cause.  The  remark  in  the  seventh  stanza  is 
natural  in  the  mouth  of  a  rather  exclusive 
habitue  of  St.  James's,  who  has  the  mortification 
to  feel  that  he  is  no  longer  young,  who  is  too 
shallow-minded  to  appreciate  our  advance  in 
civilization  during  the  last  forty  years,  but  who 
i.s  nevertheless  sufficiently  keen  to  see  what  is 
posbible  in  the  future.  My  friends  know  I  have 
a  sincere  admiration  for  the  American  people. 

"A  Garden  Lyric." 

When  these  verses  appeared  in  Macmillatfs 
Magazine  they  ran  as  follows,  but  many  of  my 
readers  could  not  see  the  point,  and  others,  seeing 
it,  disliked  it  so  heartily,  that  I  altered  them  in 
sheer  vexation  ;  now  they  have  two  readings,  and 
can  take  their  choice. 


NOTES.  105 


GERALDINE  AND  I. 

Di  te,  Damasippe  deaique 
Verum  ob  consilium  donent  tonsore. 

I  have  talk'd  with  her  often  in  noon  day  heat, 
We  have  walk'd  under  wintry  skies  ; 

Her  voice  is  the  dearest  voice,  and  sweet 
Is  the  light  in  her  gentle  eyes  ; 

It  is  bliss  in  the  silent  woods,  among 
Gay  crowds,  or  in  any  place, 

To  mould  her  mind,  to  gaze  in  her  young 
Confiding  face. 

For  ever  may  roses  divinely  blow, 

And  wine-dark  pansies  charm 
By  that  prim  box  path  where  I  felt  the  glow 

Of  her  dimpled,  trusting  arm, 
And  the  sweep  of  her  silk  as  she  turn'd  and  smiled 

A  smile  as  fair  as  her  pearls  ; 
The  breeze  was  in  love  with  the  darling  Child, 
And  coax'd  her  curls. 

She  show'd  me  her  ferns  and  woodbine  sprays, 

Foxglove  and  iasmine  stars, 
A  mist  of  blue  in  the  beds,  a  blaze 

Of  red  in  the  celadon  jars  : 
And  velvety  bees  in  convolvulus  bells, 

And  roses  of  bountiful  Spring. 
But  I  said — "  Though  roses  and  bees  have  spells, 
They  have  thorn  and  sting." 


io6  NOTES 

She  show'd  me  ripe  peaches  behind  a  net 

As  fine  as  her  veil,  and  fat 
Gold  fish  a-gape,  who  lazily  met 

For  her  crumbs — I  grudged  them  that ! 
A  squirrel,  some  rabbits  with  long  lop  ears, 

And  guinea-pigs,  tortoise-shell — wee  ; 
And  I  told  her  that  eloquent  truth  inheres 
In  all  we  see. 

I  lifted  her  doe  by  its  lops,  quoth  I, 
"Even  here  deep  meaning  lies, — 

Why  have  squirrels  these  ample  tails,  and  why 
Have  rabbits  these  prominent  eyes?" 

She  smiled  and  said,  as  she  twirl'd  her  veil, 
"  For  some  nice  little  cause,  no  doubt — 

If  you  lift  a  guinea-pig  up  by  the  tail 
His  eyes  drop  out  I " 

1868. 


"To  My  Mistress." 

M.  Deschanel  quotes  the  following  charming 
little  poem  by  Corneille,  addressed  to  a  young 
lady  who  had  not  been  quite  civil  to  him.  He 
says  with  truth—"  Le  sujet  est  leger,  le  rhythme 
court,  mais  on  y  retrouve  la  fierte  de  l'homme,  et 
aussi    l'ampleur    du    tragique."    The    last    four 


NOTES.  107 

stanzas,  in  particular,  are  brimful  of  spirit, 
and  the  mixture  of  pride  and  vanity  they  dis« 
play  is  remarkable. 

"  Marquise,  si  mon  visage 
A  quelques  traits  un  peu  vieux, 
Souvenez-vous,  qu'a  mon  age 
Vous  ne  vaudrez  guere  mieux. 

"  Le  temps  aux  plus  belles  choses 
Se  plait  a  faire  un  affront, 
Et  saura  faner  vos  roses 
Comme  il  a  ride  mon  front. 

"  Le  meme  cours  des  planetes 
Regie  nos  jours  et  nos  nuits 
On  m'a  vu  ce  que  vous  etes, 
Vous  serez  ce  que  je  suis. 

"  Cependant  j'ai  quelques  charmes 
Qui  sont  assez  eclatants 
Pour  n'avoir  pas  trop  d'alarmes 
De  ces  ravages  du  temps. 

"Vous  en  avez  qu'on  adore, 
Mais  ceux  que  vous  meprisez 
Pourraient  bien  durer  encore 
Quand  ceux-laseront  uses. 

"  lis  pourront  sauver  la  gloire 
Des  yeux  qui  me  semblent  doux„ 


108  NOTES. 

Et  dans  mille  ans  faire  croira 
Ce  qu'il  me  plaira  de  vous. 

"  Chez  cette  race  nouvelle 
Ou  j'aurai  quelque  credit, 
Vous  ne  passerez  pour  belle 
Qu'autant  que  je  l'aurai  dit. 

"  Pensez-y,  belle  Marquise, 
Quoiqu'un  grison  fasse  effroi, 
II  vaut  qu'on  le  courtise 
Quand  il  est  fait  comme  moi." 


"A  Nice  Correspondent." 

Ere  long,  perhaps  in  the  next  generation, 
the  word  nice,  and  some  other  equally  common 
words,  may  have  passed  into  the  limbo  of  elegant, 
genteel,  &c.  Fashions  change,  and  certain  words 
sink  in  the  scale  of  gentility,  and  pass,  like 
houses,  into  the  hands  of  humblei  proprietors.  But 
what  can  poor  poets  do  ! 


UNIFORM  IN  STYLE  AND  PRICE,  IN 
WHITE,  STOKES,  &  ALLEN'S  SERIES  OF 
DAINTILY   BOUND  POETICAL  WORKS,  ARE  J 

GEORGE   ELIOT'S  POEMS, 
THE   SPANISH   GYPSY, 
CHARLOTTE  BRONTE'S  POEMS, 
THOMAS  GRAY'S   POEMS, 
W.   M.  THACKERAY'S  POEMS, 
GOETHE'S   FAUST, 
HEINE'S  BOOK  OF  SONGS, 
LONDON  RHYMES,  by  Frederick  Locker* 
LONDON  LYRICS,  by  Frederick  Locker, 


Others  in  preparation. 

Each  one  volume,  i6mo,  onfiiie  laid  paper •„ 
wide  margins. 

Limp  parchment,  design  in  red,  .  $1.00 
Cloth,  new  colors,  novel  design  in  gold,  i.oo 
Half  calf,  new  colors,        .        .         .        2.50 

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